


There May Have Been Some Sketches

by hecatehatesthat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-20
Updated: 2010-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecatehatesthat/pseuds/hecatehatesthat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Spuffy Ficathon, requirements were: a little bit of happiness, during the show. Post-"Lies My Parents Told Me," refers indirectly to something Buffy says to Wood in "Dirty Girls" (I think that's the ep). in-canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There May Have Been Some Sketches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spikewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikewriter/gifts).



  
She _wasn’t_ going to go after him. Spike could take care of himself, he’d more than proved that tonight. If he wanted to kill things, or get drunk, or both, that was his right, all right. Anyone would want to kill things after supposed frie… okay, allies to Spike, not like he and Giles and Robin ever did better than tolerate each other… but still. They were her friends, or they were supposed to be, and friends don’t plot to kill their friends’ friends. Or their vampire not-boyfriends with whom they were not in love, definitely not, no matter how their heart constricted when they realized Giles was stalling them while Wood tried to…

Okay, Buffy, derailing that train right now. 

With a huff, she flipped over onto her stomach and gave the pillow a good fluff-punch that was maybe a little too rough to accomplish any actual fluffing. Not that it mattered because she was so not going to sleep – she hadn’t slept the last time Giles had betrayed her, either, on her eighteenth birthday, and by bedtime that night she’d already begun to forgive him. Forgiveness was not on the horizon this time, no sir – he wasn’t even sorry. Buffy was still boiling angry at him; she was going to have to beat the hell out of a few demons before she could even speak to him again, and she never could sleep when the call to hunt and kill was awake in her veins. Not that she slept much anymore anyway. 

Flip. 

She stared up at the ceiling. Ignored the window, which was open because it was a nice night and not because she in any way wanted Spike to come swinging through it, duster swirling. Maybe she should hang some garlic to deter him. That always worked exactly as it was supposed to. 

Huh.

Was she being as stupid now as she’d been that night? Denying the pull that was in her own body, imprisoning herself under the pretense of resisting Spike? When he wasn’t the problem. She wanted out that window, into the night, as much – more – than she wanted him in. She could go out and do a proper patrol, get in her own spot of violence without looking for him, couldn’t she? Sunnydale was… well, not a big place, but big enough they could avoid each other. Sure. She could avoid him. 

***

She didn’t go to Willy’s looking for Spike. Patrol had been dull – there were no fewer monsters than usual on the hellmouth, the monsters were just deader. A couple of big, lumpy, gnarly bodies, one of them in pieces, and a puddle of stinky bluish goo. Had to admit she didn’t mind Spike beating her to that last one; she’d put on new pants for this patrol. But the trail of demon guts meant no violence for Buffy, and she really needed to kill something. Or at least hit it a lot. She was tempted to go into Willy’s and start a brawl, but she’d let demon bars stand as neutral territory for a long time now, and it was really not the time to be messing with that. But Willy also had alcohol, and if she didn’t unwind somehow she was going to march back out and take off Wood’s head herself – lacking opportunity for violence (or sex), a bit of tipsy babbling would have to do. 

So she had her own reasons to be walking into the demon bar; all the same, she knew Spike was in there before she’d even opened the door. 

He was slouched at a table tucked into a dark corner, but he was the first thing she saw as she walked in. He was looking back at her, a wary, sideways look, head tilted down, shadowy eyes raised to meet hers. 

She managed a small smile as she crossed the room to sit down opposite him. “You didn’t leave me anything to kill,” she said, pouting a little. 

Spike just watched her for a moment, then he pursed his lips and pushed the half empty bottle of JD across the table, toward her. “Killing didn’t help much anyway. Nothing challenging.”

“Figures.” She took a swig from the bottle, making a face as it burned down her throat. When she unscrunched her eyes, he was watching her with that sweet little smile. Why did he have to smile like that? “I didn’t come here to check up on you,” she said abruptly. 

“No?” His evil-sexy scarred eyebrow lifted skeptically. 

She looked down. “Maybe a little. What did he do? You look like – you know I wasn’t in on that, right? I never would’ve –“

“Buffy. You drunk already? Course I know that. You want me dead, you’ll take me out yourself, not leave me to one of the minions. ‘Specially not one you know is no match for me.”

She smiled, a little bitterly. “Should’ve remembered that sooner myself. When I realized Giles was just trying to keep me occupied until – there was panic.” 

“Yeah?” There was that smile again. But with 63% more wonder. Something like guilt and affection tugged at her heart. He must’ve seen her discomfort, because suddenly the smile was gone and he wasn’t looking at her anymore, saying, “Well, no reason for it. You were there when the chip came out, should’ve known I could handle Son of Slayer.” 

“I did! I just… Giles was involved, I thought there’d be some kind of plan beyond ‘get-Spike-in-room-with-big-freaky-crosses-on-the-walls.’” She paused, looking at the burn on his cheek, the traces of blood at the corner of his lip and under his nose. “And I guess there was, unless you just stood there and let him beat on you for a little while, till you got tired of it.” 

“Well. Sort of.”

“Spike…”

“He played the song. The trigger. Giles’s headache-stone hadn’t quite finished its work, I reckon. Real world got mixed with… some unpleasant old memories. Your princi-PAL tossed me around until I got them sorted. If he’d gone for the stake first thing… but he had to talk, o’ course. Giving me a bloody lecture, he was. Had to de-trigger myself just to shut him up.” 

“He… but, the trigger is gone, then? Totally?”

“Like food in a house full of Potential Slayers,” he answered with a wry smile.

Buffy started to laugh, but it ended in a grimace. She took another swig from the bottle. “I don’t know who I want to kill most,” she said, after the obligatory “blech.” “But the First is getting lower on the list every day. I’m so furious at Giles. I can’t believe he would… I mean, Robin I can at least understand why…” Spike was getting defensive-face. She hurried on, “It, I mean, it was beyond stupid – did he really think he’d survive setting off your trigger? – and I would have killed him myself if he had, but at least, with the mother thing, I understand wanting to do something completely stupid and borderline suicidal, you know?” 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.” 

“Right. You said that… that that’s why you didn’t kill him. What…” she bit her lip, looked away. She was a little too aware of the way her head swung and her vision shifted – just feeling the edge of the alcohol. 

Under the table, a heavy boot nudged her foot gently. “Might as well ask me now, Buff. Both a little intoxicated, easiest way for the hard questions.” 

She smiled, but didn’t look up. “What was your mom like?” She heard him inhale sharply, and lifted her eyes. “You don’t have to –“ 

“’S alright. I don’t mind telling you about… any of it, ‘s just… it’s been a strange night.” He smiled ruefully. She just watched him, waiting, and after a moment he went on. “Was just Mother and me, for a long time. Father and my sisters had died, years ago, and I was… not likely to be starting my own family anytime soon.” He looked at her sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Had hopes, of course, and Mother always believed in me. She was… very kind. But strong. Your mum always reminded me of her, a bit.”

Buffy smiled. “I think I would have guessed that.” 

“But the last few years… she wasn’t well. Consumption.”

“That’s TB, right?”

“Yeh. Well. It had gotten pretty bad by the time I was turned, so I, ah…” he looked down.

“You… oh. Oh, Spike. You turned her?” She said it as gently as she could, but it still sounded bad. “Was she still…?”

“My mother? Not really. But it took me a long time to figure that out. Till now, actually. I was still me, so I thought – but she was – the sire thing is –“

“You had to stake her.” She wanted to reach for his hand, but wasn’t sure, if she did, that she’d ever be able to let go. So she dug the fingernails of one hand into her leg, and kept a firm grip on the bottle of Jack with the other. “I’m sorry.” 

That made him look up again. “You… thank you. I think.”

“I can occasionally understand twisted vampire logic, you know. Or maybe it’s just twisted Spike logic.” A thought struck. “What did Drusilla have to say about all this?” 

Slowly, Spike grinned. “She thought I was crazy.”

Buffy laughed. The bottle in her hand clanked against the table as her laughter made her body shake. Until Spike swiped it out of her hand to take an obscenely large shot from it himself. “Hey!” She snatched it back, took another gulp. “Ugch.”

“Oi! I paid for the bloody bottle, Slayer! And you’d do best to set at tipsy. Lightweight.”

“Shut up.” She pouted, but pushed the bottle back toward him. “Like you wouldn’t be, if you didn’t cheat.”

“Cheat!”

“Yes, cheat! By being a vampire.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.” He was smiling, but wouldn’t meet her eyes. 

“I’d –“

“’Sides, not my fault Slayer powers don’t include the ability to hold your liquor. Should take it up with those Shaman guys.”

“Oh, they’re on my list too.” 

“I bet. There anybody left _not_ on your list these days?”

“You and Willow and Xander are doin’ alright, most of the time. Everyone else does need a beating. The Potentials are… and Giles… I don’t want to talk about Giles. How could he do that? He doesn’t trust me at all.”

“Think it’s me he doesn’t trust, love.”

“Same diff! He says we rely on each other too much. God, that’s why _he_ left. Last year. I _really_ hate it when people try to do things for my own good.”

“No kidding. You’d think they’d have figured that out by now.”

“I just wish I’d figured out what Giles was up to with that back-to-basics crap sooner.”

“No matter. I didn’t need rescuing this time.”

“No, I know. I mean I wish I could have gotten there in time to see you beating up Wood.” She grinned.

Spike nodded, matching her smile. “That was pretty funny.”

“Yeah. So was threatening him.”

“You threatened him?”

“You didn’t hear? With your super-stalker vampire ears?”

“Didn’t stick around to listen. What did you say?”

“I told him I’d let you kill him if he tried anything again.” 

“You didn’t!” He laughed. “I wish I’d seen the look on his face then.” 

“But it wasn’t entirely true.” 

Spike’s smile faded. “I wasn’t kidding about killing him, Buffy. I –“

“I’d want you to let me knock him around a little first. I mean, you’d thrashed him so well today there was no point in hitting him again. But if tries again after he gets healed up? Fair game. And I want a chance to play.”

“Hmm,” Spike said, as one hand disappeared into a duster pocket. “I guess that means I should incorporate you into my game plan.” He pulled out a handful of bar napkins covered in stick-figure sketches of one fangy, grinning stick-man kicking and punching and hitting another with what mostly seemed to be big sticks. 

Buffy stared at Spike, then stared at the napkins, then back at Spike. After a moment, she picked one up that already had three figures on it: the one with the fangs, labeled “ME,” the one labeled “WOOD,” which had little “x”s for eyes and a mouth opened in horror or pain or something, apparently falling backward – he was surrounded by little motion lines – and dripping what she supposed was blood… and in the background, the third figure, unlabeled, but which had hair and little hearts for eyes and a big heart over its head and a speech bubble reading “Spike!!!!” coming from an enormous smile.

Laughing, never taking her eyes off the napkin, Buffy stuck out a hand. “Pen.”

He handed her one, and she promptly set the napkin on the table and bent over it, scribbling quickly. She could feel his eyes on her as she wrote, and she looked up at him, covering her edits with her hand. Spike was still smiling, but his eyes darted quickly between her face and the napkin. When she didn’t remove her hand after a moment, Spike leaned forward, grabbing her wrist with one hand and pulling out the napkin with the other. She watched his face light up as he read the change she’d made: half inside, half under the speech bubble, she’d written, “let me help!!”

Spike reached out and started pushing napkins around until he came up with a blank one, then he scooted his chair toward hers as he started drawing. “Here, I can hold him while you punch…”

She leaned over to look at his diagram. “I want an axe!” 

Spike paused to glare at her. “You’ll kill him with an axe. You’re just supposed to beat him up. I get to kill him.”

“I’ll hit him with the flat of it. Or, oooh! He could live without a few toes.” 

“Now that is a fine idea.”

“What is that?”

“That’s you, cuttin’ off his toes!”

“No, that! That’s an “x” over his whole foot. And you should really be drawing Wood taller than you, you know.” 

“You got a problem with my artistic style?”

“If you can call it a style… hey! Don’t write that! I would never say…”

***

END


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